Waste Land
by rainlightautumn
Summary: No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness. Eventual ProwlxJazz.
1. Epigraph

**Title**: Epigraph  
**Rating**: Eh, we'll go with PG-13 for allusions to torture. Also, Jazz is kind of insane.  
**Author's notes:** Well, here it is, a continuation of "Crazy." I blame daebereth. Seems like you get a lot of that, huh, babe? XD This is based off of one of my "song meme" drabbles, which is included for refreshing memories/those who didn't read it. :)

* * *

_**Crazy xx Gnarls Barkley  
**_

_Jazz looked like the pit and then some, laying there on a medbay berth, babbling nonsense. Ratchet is working double time to try and keep up with the systems crashes. _

_"They didn't--" Jazz starts, and Prowl immediately is there holding his hand._

_"Don't speak. Conserve your energy."_

_"They didn't...getanythin'. Firewalls. They...__" He trails off and then Jazz laughs, and the sound is low and filled with static and something slightly wild and broken._

Optimus enters the medbay and walks up to the sole occupied berth. Ratchet is standing next to it, cleaning up his work area. "How is he?" The Prime asks.

"He's in recharge," Ratchet says quietly. "Thank Primus."

Optimus continues looking down at the unconscious saboteur. "How bad is it?"

Ratchet shakes his head. "It is hard to say. His firewalls are a complete mess. He fought them every step of the way." Prime winces. He has never been hacked, but he knows from Ratchet that the experience is invasive and agonizing. Ratchet is looking down at Jazz and doesn't notice. "We almost lost him a few times," the medic says softly.

"Can you tell if they got any information?" Optimus hates asking it, but he has an army to worry about as well as a friend.

"When Jazz came in, he kept saying they didn't, and I'd have to agree. Though his firewalls are a mess, they remained intact until the virus was injected as he escaped." Ratchet pauses and his optics dim. Seeing his friend writhing and screaming when he was usually so vivacious and full of life has taken its toll on him. Optimus notices.

"Why don't you get some recharge in, old friend," the leader says gently. "I'm sure that Wheeljack or Prowl can keep watch for a while."

Ratchet shakes his head tiredly, a slightly disgusted look on his face. "Well, Wheeljack can, in any case. Prowl hasn't been in here since we brought him in."

Optimus' frown is evident in his voice when he speaks next. Jazz and Prowl were very close--there was even a betting pool on when they would finally get over themselves and get together. "Surely he's commed to check up on Jazz." Ratchet shakes his head, and Optimus shrugs. "I'll stop by and give him leave to visit. You know how he deals with worry--he barries himself in work."

"Hmm." Ratchet is still unsatisfied but leaves it alone. 'Prowl will come when he gets over himself,' he thinks uncharitably.

Static interrupts their conversation. Both bots look down to watch Jazz slowly come out of recharge.

"...Prowl?" Jazz whispers. His visor flickers fitfully before fully coming online.

"Hey there, Jazz, it's Ratchet and Prime. Take it easy, okay?" Ratchet's tone is soothing but Jazz doesn't seem to register the words.

"Where's Prowl?" Jazz asks. Ratchet and Prime look at each other, each asking the other without words what they should say. Prime eventually answers, "He's not here, Jazz."

Jazz tilts his head every which way in an effort to find the tactician. His voice is raspy and obviously damaged. "Prowl, they didn't get anything. They--_nam Sibyllam qui-quidem Cumis--pendere--"_

Optimus glances worridly at Ratchet. "What is he saying, Ratchet?"

Ratchet's face is pinched and worried. "I don't know. He's been fading in and out of lucidity."

_"--illi p-p-pueri dicerent--"_

Monitors connected to Jazz's vitals begin beeping, and Ratchet springs into action. "His main energon pump--Jazz, I need you to calm down--"

_"--Sibylla ti theleeeis--"_

Ratchet grabs at Jazz's arm and turns the saboteur on his side to gain access to his overrides.

_"--apothanein thelo!"_ Jazz yells, anguished, and then Ratchet puts him into stasis and all is quiet.

"He was getting himself too worked up," Ratchet explains. "It was causing his energon pump to fluccuate too much." He steps back from the berth. "I'm calling Wheeljack. You," he says pointedly to Optimus, "can tell Prowl to get his aft over here. Jazz obviously isn't going to rest voluntarily until he talks to the fragger. I am getting some recharge."

Optimus smiles slightly at the order from his medic but turns to exit the medbay.

* * *

Note: What Jazz is saying is a (slightly bastardized) excerpt from T.S. Eliot's the waste land. It translates as: "I have seen with my own eyes the Sibyl hanging in a jar, and when the boys asked her 'What do you want?' She answered, 'I want to die.'"


	2. The Burial of the Dead

**Word Count: **2,169  
**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took so long to get out, but real life hit hard and this fic hit a little too close to home.

This chapter could be a little confusing, so know that italicized font is a flashback. The dividers should help.

This is dedicated to the memory of my beloved grandfather.

Thomas Hayden  
December 8, 1933 - October 6, 2008  
"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;  
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

**

* * *

  
**

Uhn. Voices. Who…

"…signal…area… coming up on it."

Prowler?

"Hey, what's…Oh Primus, is that…"

Prowler, is that you?

"Call the Ark, tell them we need Skyfire and Ratchet ASAP!"

I…I'm sorry.

"I've gotta get him some fluids."

April is the cruelest month.

"Jazz? Come on Jazz, can you hear me?"

I tried.

---

_Jazz leans back precariously in his chair, staring at the screens in front of him. He almost wishes something would pop up on the monitors just so he wouldn't have to sit here and stare at nothing for the remainder of his monitor duty. He starts to hum a tune he heard on the local college station before his shift started—it's a soft tune, and Jazz hopes that the song will distract him from the tedium._

"_You have a nice voice," his shift partner murmurs. Jazz refrains from jerking in surprise, though it's a near thing. He had almost forgotten that Prowl was there, impossible though it may seem._

"_Thanks," he replies, slightly embarrassed at forgetting himself. "Sorry if I was buggin' ya."_

"_On the contrary," Prowl responds without looking away from the monitors in front of him, "This shift is proving to be a dull, monotonous one." Prowl pauses now and his doorwings twitch slightly. He tilts his head to the left so he can meet Jazz's surprised optics. "You…you could continue." At Jazz's quick intake, Prowl hurries to clarify. "If you want to."_

_Jazz turns in his chair to look more fully at the tactician. His whole posture is tense in discomfort and one of his hands is clenched into a fist in his lap. The saboteur lets the charged silence hold for a few moments and then slowly smiles and turns back to his station, the lyrics to the song pouring smoothly out of his vocalizer._

_"I can see your smiling face as when we wandered down by the brook-side, just you and I__…"_

_---_

"He's crashing, get the—"

"You only know a heap of broken images-"

"Ratchet, I can't—"

"They didn't get, oh, no nothin', no they didn't get anythin' Prowl, Prowler, where's Prowl?"

"It's okay, Jazz, calm down, you're back at base now, we'll take care—"

"…dead tree no shelter—no sound of _water_…"

"We need to get some firewalls in there _now_, or all of his systems are going to…"

"He said he said he said, 'I will show you _fear, _oh, _fear_ in a handful of dust'—"

"Don't you give up on me, Jazz. You hear me, you fragger? Stay with me."

---

_It's late when Jazz walks into the empty rec room and his optics immediately going to the black and white in the corner. Prowl looks stressed, though a 'bot couldn't tell by looking at his face—no, it's all in the tense set of his doorwings. So Jazz makes a quick detour to the energon dispenser and then makes his way to the corner. The SIC doesn't look up from the data pad he's reading, so Jazz sets the cubes down on the table, bends down, and wraps his arms around Prowl's shoulders._

_Prowl immediately tenses and turns his head to see who it is. "Jazz?" He asks, relaxing immediately._

_Jazz just smiles. "Yeah, Prowler?"_

_The look on Prowl's faceplates is priceless, almost adorable in its confusion. "What are you doing?"_

"_Givin' you a hug," the saboteur responds nonchalantly. When he lays his head against Prowl's shoulder, he gives a little nudge that is almost a nuzzle. Prowl's optics flare briefly in surprise, and then he leans his head slightly down towards Jazz's._

"_Why?" He asks a moment later._

_Jazz does not move from his spot. "Looked like you needed one."_

_---_

Jazz groans and attempts to bring his visor online. When nothing happens, his systems start to speed up in spite of himself. He has to be quiet, shh shh, so so still, they might come back and he doesn't want that he thought he got away they must have caught him and he's sorry, so so sorry Prowl—

"Jazz, it's Ratchet."

Jazz starts at the familiar gravelly voice right beside him. Did he get out? Yes, yes, he remembers now, ripping shackles from the wall, his wrists _hurt_ but it all melts into the same burning pain as all over and tackling the guard who came to give him his ration, enough to keep him online for the next round—

"Ratchet," Jazz says, or tries to say, but his vocalizer is laden with static (they pushed and pushed and _pulled _you know the funny thing about humans, they don't have metal inside them they have bones and bones bend before they break what about you?).

"Jazz, your systems are still stabilizing. We took care of the most pressing injuries first." There is suddenly a hand resting gently on his shoulder and Jazz has to force himself not to jerk away. "I know you feel like slag, Jazz, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"They…they didn't get anything," Jazz is quick to say. Everything in his CPU is garbled, nothing makes much sense but that's right, there's a file he managed to write while he was running (running and running and later crawling, a fire acid crawling through his lines and centering in his processors, oh it aches and he knows, he remembers). "They got me. With somethin'. When I ran, triggered…" He breaks off, something is blocking it, why can't he _say _it, he knows, it's there _there_ so close but he can't say it and he lets out a frustrated noise.

Ratchet's voice is soothing, trying to calm him, lull him into a false safety before--"Can you tell me what it is, Jazz?"

Jazz shakes his helm jerkily from side to side, not smoothly, never smoothly when he was hanging from the ceiling and he can't touch the ground. "No, no no no no. Can't—Prowl, where's Prowl?" He'll know, he always knows.

Ratchet hesitates. "He's not here, Jazz. You can tell me, he knows they didn't get anything."

Jazz groans. "No no no O O O O the hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four." His pump is speeding up, he can't stay still, Prowl will know, he _has _to know—

"You need to calm down. I'm going to put you in temporary stasis so I can fix…well, fix some more of you. Try and relax, everything's gonna be fine." Jazz can feel Ratchet's hands moving at his helm, working to shut him off, blessed blessed silence-NO.

"The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same," Jazz strains to get out, "Prowl, Prowl, what are mountains of rock without water…"

Silence.

---

_"OOOOH!" The mechs crowded around the table crow as Prowl rolls a 5 and groans. Jazz cackles and does a little shimmy, making Bluestreak, Wheeljack, Sideswipe, and Ratchet laugh. Prowl fails to hide a grin._

_"Al_right_!" Jazz crows, complete with fist pumping. Prowl grumbles good naturedly as he moves his piece from North Carolina Avenue to Park Place._

_"The chances," Prowl mutters, "of me landing on Park Place ONCE were a little over 2%. Landing on it a SECOND time..."_

_Jazz just grins before adopting a rigid pose and a queer French accent. "Why, hello again, monsieur! What a delight to see you here at _Chez Jazz_ once more!" He holds one hand out to a very amused Prowl. "That will be $1,500."_

_Prowl shakes his head and hands the other mech the money, not quite hiding the laughter in his voice when he next speaks. "Your establishment is far too overpriced for the services provided."_

_Jazz adopts an affronted look as he grasps the money. "You! How DARE you insult the prestigious _Chez Jazz on Park_!" _

_"Well, if you are so insulted, I am sure you do not want my money..." Prowl replies, tugging lightly on the paper bills. His fingers brush Jazz's and both mechs enjoy the sweet rushing of their systems._

_Jazz tugs back on the money and neatly arranges it in its proper stacks, looking back up at the now chuckling tactician and grinning broadly. "I will still take your money, tainted though it may be!"_

_---_

When he surfaces this time, it is a little easier. He knows immediately that he is in the medbay of the _Ark_ and that there are three other mechs in the room with him. By the sound of the systems whirring in his ear, Wheeljack has just brought him out of stasis. And yet the first thing he says is, "Prowl?"

"Hey there, Jazz," the engineer says lightly, "How you feeling?"

Jazz lets out a strained bark of laughter, "You…really want me to answer that?"

Jazz imagines that 'Jack's headfins are flashing. He wishes he could see them, but it's been a long time since anything real passed in front of his optics. "Well, I figure you're feeling pretty damn rotten, but I need to know if our repairs are working."

Jazz rolls his head to the side to face Wheeljack. "Who else?" He asks, and is grateful the other mech gets the drift, he can only get so much out at a time.

"Well, ole Percy is over yonder hacking away at some pads, and Ratchet is comin' up along your other side to talk to you. We're trying to figure out what the 'cons got you with."

Jazz lets his head roll back so he is facing the ceiling. They won't get it, no one will get it, where's Prowl he isn't here he _tried_ he really did, it was an ambush, too much for one mech to handle. "Oed' und leer das Meer," he murmurs.

"What's that, Jazz?" Wheeljack asks. Jazz knew it, but he'll keep trying, can't do anything else, won't give up as long as he functions however long that is (_now this here is a beauty, made it myself highly dangerous, use a form of_).

"Mein Irisch Kind wo weilest du?"

---

_"'And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,__  
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,  
And I was frightened.'" _

_Jazz lets Prowl's low, smooth voice wash over his audios, enjoying the tingle the sound sets in his spark. They're outside today, a change from their normal routine, but it has been raining for the past 10 days and the sun is too wonderful to resist. He leans back more fully against the tree behind him and a small smile touches his lips as he looks up at the cloudless sky. Out of his side vision, he sees Prowl glance up at him from the datafile and smile._

_"What are you looking at, Jazz?" Prowl asks._

_Jazz lets his smile grow. "Just the sky. But I'm listenin'. Keep going--I'm likin' this poem when you're the one readin' it."_

_Prowl's smile softens. He nods and picks up from where he left off._

_"'He said, Marie,  
__Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.  
In the mountains, there you feel free.'"_

_---_

"Hello, Jazz." It's Prime's voice, deep and resonating. Jazz doesn't look over.

"Where's Prowl?" He asks, and his voice is calm but inside he's burning.

Prime hesitates and Jazz has his answer. He tries to push aside the hurt that Prowl is wherever he is and not _here _and focus on the urgency. "I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence." Prime is quiet and Jazz lets out a sigh, feeling defeated. "Ta, chief. Goodnight," he murmurs.

---

_After the mission brief, Jazz sees Prowl loitering about, restlessly picking up and setting down the same data pads. The saboteur waits until the remaining bots have cleared out before approaching his friend._

"_Hey, Prowler, what's up?" Jazz asks concernedly. It's possible that the tactician is worried about the upcoming covert mission Jazz is going on, and Jazz plans on lightening Prowl's disposition. He places a gentle hand on Prowl's, halting the restless motions with the current data pad._

"_I have just been thinking on the upcoming covert mission," Prowl admits softly, turning his head to look askance at the saboteur._

_Jazz grins. "Aw, ain't nothing to be worried about. Everything will work out just fine."_

_Prowl turns to look straight at Jazz, his face shifting quickly from concerned to stoic. "Jazz, it is imperative that you refrain from capture during this next sabotage mission."_

_Jazz's grin fades slowly. He fails to hide all of the hurt in his voice when he speaks next. "Refrain from...? Well, geeze, Prowler, ain't like I wanna get caught."_

"_None the less," Prowl responds evenly, "the plans for the power plant are highly classified and would prove to be a strong advantage for the Autobots. Your capture would result in the collapse of those plans."_

_Jazz straightens. "Don't worry, Prowl," he says woodenly, "I'll…refrain from capture. You'll have nothing to worry about." He nods in farewell, turns to the door, and walks away._

_

* * *

  
_

Translations:

"Oed' und leer das Meer"—"Empty and desolate the sea"  
"Mein Irisch Kind wo weilest du?"—"My Irish girl where are you lingering?"

The song Jazz sings is "Sweet Adeline."

Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts on this fic. "Wasteland" holds a special place in my heart, and I am extremely grateful that others are enjoying it as well.

And I promise that everything will make sense in time. :)


	3. The Fire Sermon

Blaster gets a chill in his systems and looks up for no particular reason. When he sees Jazz walking into the rec room, he smiles tentatively. "Hey, Jazz!" He calls out. The rest of the occupants of the room become still and quiet. "How you feeling, man?" Blaster asks. Every other bot watches warily. Word has traveled from those passing by the medbay telling tale of a blind Jazz mumbling nonsense. They are surprised to see Jazz out of the medbay.

Jazz tilts his head in Blaster's direction and heads to the table the other bot is sitting at. In his hands are a drawing pad and a writing utensil. Once he sits at the spare seat, he answers, "My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me."

Blaster nods. "Yeah, man, that's totally understandable, from what Bluestreak and Hound told me. They're the ones that found you, you know."

Jazz sets his drawing pad on the table and starts making lines on a fresh page. "I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing."

The bots within hearing distance shift awkwardly in their seats. Smokescreen, being one of those mechs, stands from his seat and makes his way over to Jazz's table. Trailbreaker immediately vacates his seat on Jazz's other side to make room for the Datsun. Jazz doesn't acknowledge the shift in seats.

"Jazz," Smokescreen starts, "what did you mean by what you just said?"

Jazz doesn't look up from his paper. "What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?"

Blaster looks over at Bumblebee, who shrugs. Smokescreen is undeterred, however, and motions to the drawing that Jazz is working on. "What are you doing there?" Jazz shrugs. "You mind if I take a look at it?" Jazz rips the page out of the book and continues drawing, so Smokescreen takes that as a "yes".

The picture is of a woman and a man on a sled, riding down a hill. Smokescreen, genuinely confused but trying not to show it, looks up at Jazz, who is yet again drawing furiously. "Jazz, what is this?"

Jazz glances up quickly and then back down. "Upside down."

Smokescreen turns the drawing over and stares at it."It's just the same thing, except right side up, Jazz."

"Prowl knows," Jazz says quietly.

* * *

Ratchet stands at the door to Prowl's office with his teeth gritted and fists clenched waiting for the 2IC to answer his chime. Ratchet storms in when the door cycles open. Prowl seems not to notice the medic's ire and stands with his back to him.

"What are you doing, Prowl? Why are you doing this?"

"I do not know what you mean," Prowl says succinctly, not turning around.

Ratchet growls, his frustration at an all time high. "He _needs_ you! You're his best friend and you aren't _there_ for him!"

"From reports, Jazz seems to be performing in a perfectly satisfactory manner."

Ratchet almost couldn't speak. "Perfectly satisfac--have you _looked_ at him?" Prowl is silent, so Ratchet continues, "He would be there for you, Prowl. How many times has he refused to leave your side in my medbay after you've gotten yourself slagged?"

"This is not the same, Ratchet," Prowl's voice sounds strained, but Ratchet doesn't care.

"Oh? How so? Just because he's not bed laid anymore doesn't mean he's all better!" He doesn't pause long enough for Prowl to answer him. "He's hurting, Prowl. We're doing our best, but there is only so much we can do," Ratchet's frustration with himself for not knowing what is wrong yet bleeds into his voice. "Jazz needs people who care for him around him to help him through this while we figure out what the frag is going _on_."

Prowl turns to face the medic, and Ratchet sees the anguish that the tactician has been hiding. "I did this to him!"

Ratchet softens slightly and reaches for him. "Prowl..."

"**No**!" He pulls back, refusing comfort. "_I_ was the one who came up with the plan, _I_ was the one who suggested Jazz for the mission, it was _me_, all _me_."

Ratchet's voice is quiet. "He wouldn't blame you for this. He doesn't. He knows it wasn't your fault."

"How can you know?" Prowl bites out, and begins to turn and walk towards the door.

"He called out for you."

That gives Prowl pause. "...What?"

"At the beginning of his lucid periods, he called out your name." Ratchet places a light hand on Prowl's shoulder. "He wants you by his side, Prowl."

"How can he want me?" Prowl asks brokenly. "How can he want the one who caused his pain? You did not see his face," Prowl whispers, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. "Before he left, I...said some unforgivable things. How can he possibly want..." he trails off, at a loss to properly convey the anguish inside of his spark at the mere thought of his best friend.

"Stop being selfish," Ratchet responds gruffly. "You're so focused on _your_ guilt that you can't see _his_ needs. Push yourself aside and concentrate on him."

There is silence for a moment while Prowl thinks. Jazz has been on his CPU constantly while Prowl has been avoiding seeing him. But Jazz is (or _was_, Jazz has every right to never want to see his sorry skidplate again after this mess) his best friend, and Prowl...Prowl loves him. The fall hasn't been so much a fall as a gentle float into something wonderful, and he knows Jazz has felt it as well. He might have ruined any chances he ever had at gaining full reciprocation with his recent actions, but he loves Jazz, and when you love someone, you are supposed to be there for them, no matter what. Prowl straightens his shoulders and asks, "Where is he?"

Ratchet's frame releases some of the tension it had been holding since Prowl's prolonged absence from Jazz's side. "I released him from the Medbay two days ago on the condition that he must stay overnight under observation. He's probably in--"

_"Ratchet!"_

Ratchet jumps at the sudden interruption on his commlink and snaps, _"What, Blaster?"_

"_It's Jazz. He was drawing these pictures that don't make a lick of sense, and then he juststarted spouting nonsense and collapsed."_

"_Move him to the medbay—I'll comm. Wheeljack and Perceptor and meet you there."_

"_Hurry. It's not looking good, Ratch."_

Ratchet cuts the communication and looks up at Prowl, who is staring at him with restrained impatience.

"It's Jazz. He's collapsed in the rec room."

Prowl doesn't look back as he hurries to the door to his office. Ratchet is right behind him, yelling, "He's being transported to Medical!" The two mechs don't speak after that.

* * *

They arrive just as Bluestreak, Blaster, and Smokescreen set a struggling Jazz onto the berth. Jazz's body jerks violently into an upright position and he grasps his helm in a tight grip. "It _hurts_!" He groans.

Ratchet's voice is tense and slightly panicked when he speaks, "_Where_, Jazz, we can't help you if you don't—"

"Helm—inside—CPU," the saboteur manages. "They wash their feet in soda water." He digs his fingers into his helm until the metal squeaks and sparks begin to ignite.

Blaster, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, and Prowl are hovering in the background, unsure if there is anything they can do to help. And frankly, Jazz's condition is frightening to them. Perceptor is frantically searching through Teletran's database, trying to find anything that may help them. "Jazz, you are not making any sense-"

"Yes, I-" Jazz lets out a short scream and leans forward and slams his hands hard against the berth. His frustration with the situation has finally taken its toll on him, and with each phrase, his fists and the berth gain dents. "It's there! It's there, it's there, I know it, won't let me, O O O O, HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME."

Prowl can no longer watch his loved one in agony and grabs for Jazz's hands.

"Jazz, do not injure yourself further, we will work together to beat this."

Everything about Jazz seems to freeze when he hears Prowl's voice. He lifts his head from where it rests upon the berth, and the look upon his faceplates is so anguished and yet innocently hopeful that Prowl feels as though his spark is the finest blown glass that has shattered.

"P…Prowl? Is that," one of the black hands in the tactician's grip shifts to grasp almost desperately at Prowl's white one while the other one reaches up to tentatively brush at Prowl's faceplates. "Is that really you?"

Prowl nods and reaches up to hold Jazz's hand close to his face. There is a small, sick smile on his faceplates. The guilt that he has been trying so hard to push back for the mech in front of him twists his internals into illogical, uncomfortable knots. "Yes, Jazz."

Jazz's face lights up and the smile that overtakes his visage looks painful. "Prowl! Prowl, they didn't get anything."

Prowl wishes he could cry.

"I know, Jazz. I know they didn't get anything. What I said to you before you left…" Prowl trails off, attempting to find the words to convey the depth of his self loathing, "I was worried and I expressed that emotion in a manner unfitting of the situation and our relationship. I," he cannot meet Jazz's bright, useless optics any longer and bows his head, "I care for you too much to have meant what I said."

Jazz shakes his head vigorously. His voice is serious when he next speaks. "Not important right now Prowler. Not much time." Jazz seems to struggle to speak, even in such stilted phrases. He uses the hand on Prowl's faceplates to push the tactician's helm up. "Prowl, it's a waste land."

A spasm rocks Jazz's body and he cries out in pain. Prowl holds his hand tighter and Wheeljack rushes up to help him lay the saboteur back down on the berth. Ratchet approaches with the intent to temporarily offline Jazz, but Jazz senses his advance and shakes his head violently.

"No. No, HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME." He turns to Prowl, an agonized look on his face. "Prowler, please, I'm tryin', I've been tryin' but you weren't—" he stops and shakes his head again. Prowl thinks he knows what Jazz was going to say, though, and guilt seems to make his pump stutter.

"Jazz, I'm sorry, I was…" he trails off and drops his head again in shame. "I was too focused on my guilt. It was my fault that you—"

Jazz cuts him off, saying, "No. No, Prowl, wasn't your fault. Not important." He waits until Prowl settles before speaking again. "Wrote a program," he says but then stops, looking frustrated. He grasps Prowl's hand tighter and continues, "Remember walking outside, week afore before I left, we were outside that day and—"

Prowl frowns at the earnest statement. "Jazz, I do not comprehend…there were two days where we were outside in that timeframe. Can you narrow it down?"

The monitor next to them indicating Jazz's spark pulse speeds up and then slows down rapidly and Jazz brings his free hand up to claw at his helm, causing Ratchet to step forward in concern. Strange, Prowl had forgotten that anyone else was in the room.

"The day—Marie, Marie, hold on tight," his voice gets softer, "I like this poem…when you're the one readin' it."

Prowl's intakes speed up and his optics flare in comprehension. "The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot. But why would you…?"

"Program. Shh, shh, can't tell, they can't know. The crickets no relief, the dry stone no sound of _water_. They _did _somethin' to me, Prowl. Locked it. Put somethin' in m' head."

The other mechs in the room look completely lost, but Prowl has a look of dawning realization on his face. "You wrote a program of Waste Land to confuse your captors. And they locked the program?"

Jazz nods emphatically, "Yes yes yes. But it's staying, taking over, can't—" he breaks off, and his grasp on Prowl's hand becomes almost painful. "Oh, hurts hurts."

"The program you wrote and the Decepticons locked is overtaking the programming in your head, is that what you are saying, Jazz?" Ratchet asks urgently. Jazz nods and nods and nods. Ratchet begins hooking different wires to various places all over Jazz, but mainly focusing on his helm. "Okay, Jazz, can you tell me how much of your programming as been altered already?" Jazz shakes his head, but Ratchet doesn't give up, "Can you tell me how much time you have left before the programming successfully locks the whole of your CPU?"

At this Jazz ceases all movement. "Hurry up please, it's time," he says quietly.

Ratchet looks first at his patient, then at Prowl. "We're going to have to put him in stasis lock and attempt to first control the program and then move to eradication."

Wheeljack and Perceptor nod and move to gather the necessary tools for such actions. Prowl looks up at Ratchet with hope in his visage. "And this will fix him?"

Ratchet fights to meet Prowl's optics. "It's a very finite procedure. And to accomplish this, I'm going to need you all out of my medbay."

At this he throws a telling glare at Bluestreak, Smokescreen, and Blaster, who make haste in their exit. Prowl remains by Jazz's side.

Jazz sounds tired when he speaks next, "The chemist said I'd be alright, but I've never been the same."

Prowl entwines their fingers. "Everything is going to be alright, Jazz. I'll be here with you."

"No, Prowl, you won't."

Ratchet is ready for Prowl's hurt glare. "I meant what I said about this being a very finite procedure. You can't be in here, getting in my way if something were to go wrong. You can go wait with the others—I'm sure Bluestreak could use a friend right now."

Prowl hangs his head in defeat. He _would_ be more of a hindrance than a help, and he vows he will never hurt Jazz again. He looks up at Ratchet with bright optics, "Ratchet, can I please have a moment with Jazz in privacy?"

Ratchet cycles his vents and glares. "You can have two minutes while we prepare the necessary tools for the procedure." And with that, he turns and heads over to the supply closet with Wheeljack and Perceptor. It's as much privacy Ratchet is willing to give.

Satisfied with what Ratchet has given him, Prowl turns his attention to the prone saboteur. Jazz is strangely calm now, perhaps for finally having gotten his message through to the mech he had been waiting for. Prowl wishes he could just stare at Jazz, who is staring at him with confusion on his faceplates; just stare at him and pretend that everything was alright already. The tactician, aware of his time constraints, hastens to speak.

"Jazz, I have something to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."

* * *

**Word Count: **2,510  
**AN:** Sorry this was such a long time coming—real life is a bitch, and then this chapter was very reticent about being written. :\ I'm not as pleased with this chapter, which is a surprise since I had bits of this written months ago. And the muses would not allow me to write past where this ended. Perhaps a new chapter where I don't have anything written for it will be easier (and faster). Ah, well, let me know what you think!


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